The Quiet Annexation of New South Canada
by LunaNyx14
Summary: Matthew Williams, aka Canada, was sick and tired of no one knowing who he was. Of constantly being mistaken for his brother or, worse, ignored. He was determined to, once and for all, stand out no matter the cost. Even if it meant it was his turn for that "Manifest Destiny" phase. Whatever the cost, he would be noticed. He would be remembered.
1. Chapter 1

North America. How Matthew HATED that term. To most countries, all it meant was America, America and more America. Didn't matter that Canadians and Americans called the USA the United States, alternating between calling them the States or the US for short. Nope, because Americans were still called Americans and were known as America around the rest of the world, as if they owned the bloody continent. This lead people to believe that "North America" just meant Canada, which was North-of-America (that is, if they even existed) and Mexico suddenly became South America, which was an entirely different continent but did that matter? Nope, not at all. Why would it matter? As for Central America? Bah, what's that? The place was called the Carribean, or called by the individual country names.

Yes, you might as well taken the entire map of the Western Hemisphere and stamped a big, red, "AMERICA" across it all, because that's all it was. America. USA. And, to Matthew, that really hurt.

Often times, poor Matthew was ignored or mistaken for his so called brother, despite being "supposedly" known internationally as peace makers. Sometimes... Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered. Why he hadn't just let his brother annex him back in those days. After all, he pretty much had anyways, just quietly. Canada was it's own country in name, only, and it wasn't like anyone cared. Alfred could annex him now, and nobody would even notice.

"C'mon, dad, don't think like that. People know about you." Tara, formally known as Ontario, said. Matthew frowned, turning to his oldest (or second oldest? He always forgot whether Ontario or Quebec was older) daughter.

"I mean, Japan knows you. You of all people should know that Canada has a super big concentration of Asians, especially in BC. Just look at Hiromi! And there's also Taiwan, Vietnam, Korea, China... and whatever other Oriental places that exist. And all those east Indians, despite Uncle Alfred's complaints, you know you like having them here. Their curry is delish! Francis likes us, though the frog's a little too.. grabby." Cue a glare from Canada for the "frog" comment, "and... uh... hm.. what about Netherlands? He's super cool, eh? He gives us tulips every year because of World War Two, for liberating his country from stupid Nazi German face and for sheltering the royal family in Ottawa. Remember? Queen Margriet was born here, and we had to make that hospital room temporarily extraterritorial so she'd be able to assume the Dutch crown. And... uh... what about Cuba? Okay, yes, he's a bit of an ass sometimes – seriously, is he STILL pissed at Al for he Cuban missile Crisis? Was that even his fault? What's his deal? – but you twp have a lot of fun when he brings ice cream and joints – right up until he beats you up again..." Cue another glare.

"And Russia! He likes you, right? Sorta? At least, he doesn't hate you, which he probably should since you stood by Al during the cold war – except for that Trudeau. Kinda nervous about Trudeau juniour, to be honest, I mean... yeah, Harper's a bit of a moron and, as Obama called him, all pudge and hair and never really his voice is coming from – is the dude a ventriloquist in his spare time? It would make sense, for him to play with creepy dolls – but our economy's stable and do we REALLY need another Liberal government?"

Matthew, briefly, wondered if she ever stopped talking.

"And... uh... the Nordics! They like you! Usually only during hockey but.. and England and America. Sure, they forget sometimes but... aren't we known internationally for our comedy? Just for Laughs festival, Comedy Now, Corner Gas, Colin from "Who's Line is it anyway", Seth Rogan, Tim Nutt, Russel Peters, Mike Meyers, Jim Carrey... plus, our music. Metric, Rush, Niel Young, Teagan and Sara, Nickleback, Celine Dion, Avril Lavigne, Serena Ryder, Marian's Trench, Hedley, Carley Rae Jepsen, Justin Bieber – okay, bad example, but the list goes on!"

Matthew, before Tara could continue, interrupted. "So, what you're saying is that, our music is either crappy or assumed American, and if we aren't forgotten or ignored, we're being laughed at."

Ontario sighed, "Whatever dad, I tried. Listen, America's coming over for your guy's weekly bro meeting, try not to get us annexed. I'm going to visit Callie." She huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Just before she left, slipping on those ridiculous looking birkenstocks she seemed to adore despite the atrocity of them, she offered one last bit of "wisdom"

"Hey, sometimes being ignored isn't so bad. I mean, you could probably invade America and he wouldn't even notice. Not until it was too late, anyways." She said, shutting the door behind her.

Matthew, ever the "optimist", rolled his eyes. "The stupid hoser would probably just think he annexed us because we wanted to be American or something" A lightbulb, sparkling violet eyes. Suddenly, the little Canadian had an idea.

Soon, the world would know who Canada was. They would know very well. "Let's see how Al likes it, eh?" He muttered, grinning.

**Heh, the inspiration bug bit me again. So, just a note on the title, it's something I thought would be very clever. Obviously, an annexation is to have countries join or unite together to become one, but a quiet one? Well, I got the idea of a "quiet" annexation from the term "quiet" revolution with the Quebecois, where the revolution was still fought but instead of physical battles, they would be more political. Sort of like the term "Cold" war, which was a war that wasn't a war but still a war, according to my social studies. Anyways, the term "Quiet Annexation" refers to how, currently, the American culture has overpowered most of Canada's culture to the point that we're a sad little love child of France, England, the natives, America and all of our immigrants (We love you all still! Don't take that as an offense!), but in the title "The Quiet Annexation of New South Canada", it more relates to the idea that it's about time Canada returned the favour. **

**Now, as for pairings, I don't have any as of yet. I see the US and Canada being more as brothers, and both USUK and FrUK are enjoyable for me, as well as PruCan and RusCan, so we'll see what I decide to throw in there. If you are reading my story Do Not Piss Off Your Russian Nanny, you'll notice some throwbacks to it with Tara (The OC I created of Ontario) and Hiromi (The OC for BC xD), don't worry I am going back to that. Now, as for the full summary, it goes as follows.**

**Canada is sick and tired of being a nobody, completely unknown. He is just as important and can be just as influential as his damned brother, and he's determined to set out and prove it. Meanwhile, America, either as an effort to be the hero once again or because he genuinely cares, is determined to make his brother noticed, and influential. Two different people, two different countries, two different causes and two different personalities, yet the same level of stubbornness and determination... one can only wonder which of these blondes will succeed first?**


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew sighed, pushing the glasses he wore up his delicate nose with the pad of his thumb before running his fingers through the mop of blonde curls on his head. In front of him sat a list titled "What makes me Canadian". On the very top of the list were the basics – poutine, bilingualism, Tim Horton's, Hockey, Maple Syrup, Politeness, Maple Leaves. "Well," he muttered, "that's all fine 'nd dandy, but there's gotta be more, eh Kumajina?" Matt asked the sleepy bear.

"List." Kuma yawned, "'Eh'".

Matt nodded, adding 'eh' to his list. "Thanks Kuma."

"Who?"

Wordlessly, 'forgettability' went on the list.

"Hey, Matty bro! Ya in here?! I brought that coffee you love so much!" Alfred's loud, booming voice came reverberating through the halls. Matthew froze, then threw a book over top of the list, launching himself over the worn brown couch and down the hall, practically ripping the steaming Tim Horton's cup from his older brother's hands. Said older brother chuckled as he sipped his own coffee, staying ever so loyal to his favourite coffee place, Starbucks.. "I even remembered to use that term – what was it, double-double? The lady seemed impressed for some reason. Guess she knew who I was."

Matthew, after taking an impossibly large gulp from his steaming Timmy' cup and then making audible noises of pain due to it's heat, finally set his cup down breathlessly. "God, Al, do you have any idea how much I've needed this today? You're a life-saver, I swear. Not of mine, but of whoever decided to bother me next. Hold on, I've gotta get the fries outta the oven." Matt stated, rushing to the oven when he heard the timer ding. Curious, Alfred followed.

"So, Matty bro, whatcha makin' huh? Anything edible?"

"Poutine."

"So... I'll take that as a 'no' on the edible part."

Canada spun around, spatula in hand and an irritated expression on his face. "Come off it, Al. You eat far more disgusting food than I do, aside from that sourtoe drink in the Yukon. And, really, Poutine isn't that far from what you eat anyways. It's basically just fries, cheese, gravy. No big deal." Well, technically, cheese _curds_, but telling America that would just gross him out so he left that part out.

"Cheese curds."

Matthew, who had turned back to check on his gravy, frowned and turned around to face the American once again. "Huh?" He stated, oh so eloquently.

"Cheese curds, not cheese. You've corrected me enough times for me to know that much."

Matt blinked and, as much as he hated it, had to admit he was impressed. It was rare enough to get Alfred to pay attention and remember anything that didn't involve himself (even then, really), let alone anything about his younger brother.

"Would it really kill you to try a bite, Al?"

"I'm not sure, depends on how much of the Limey bastard's cooking skills you picked up." Al joked, "or France's, for that matter. I mean, snail? Frog legs?"

Canada giggled slightly, his dour mood from earlier slowly dissipating in his brother's company. He wondered if maybe he should give up on his stupid plan.

No. He had to be recognized, if it was the last thing he did.

"Yeah, those weren't exactly his most defining moments, eh?" He said, finishing up his poutine and bringing it out with his Tim Horton's coffee. He sank down into the cushions of his brown couch, letting out a contented sigh. The two brothers, nearly identical in their appearance, sat in a very brief but comfortable silence; accented only be the whirring of various machines around the Canadian's home and the sipping of the coffee, the two alternating in a subconscious, rhythmic pattern, keeping time like some sort of coffee clock. Or maybe a pendulum – right swing Alfred sip, left swing Matthew sip – however, as it oft did in the company of the American, the gentle silence was dissipated by an even gentler clearing of the throat, signaling that it was time to get to business.

"So, which do we do first? Business or games?" Alfred asked, as he did every week while hopelessly hoping for the wrong answer.

Predictably, his hopes were dashed. "Business, obviously." The taller (though you wouldn't notice it) nation said, twisting some melted cheese curds around his fork in such a way that made the American man both disgusted and intrigued. "You should know by now, if we don't talk business first, we'd never talk about it at all, eh?" He chuckled.

There was a reason the two nations always had their "weekly bro meeting" on Fridays and never, ever, ever earlier in the week. Both were certain that they just used their country and their shared... pretty much everything ass an excuse to sleepover at the others' every weekend.

"Alright..." Alfred sighed, cracking his back and adjusting his glasses. His eyes once more fell on the 'revolting' poutine and his stomach gave a tell tale grow.. The American patted down his bomber, crying out in dismay as he remembered eating his last burger on his way over the border. He gave Matthew a pleading, pathetic look that clearly read 'please feed me', causing a look of mischief to appear in his younger's violet eyes. Deftly, he removed another plate from beneath his own and scraped a little less than half of the 'vile' medley he called food onto the plate, procuring another fork from God-knows-where before pushing the entire thing over to Alfred's side of the table.

"Please, Matty, not that! Anything but that!" Al whined, despite that fact that his hunger addled mind was already scooping fries and cheese on top of it, bringing it closer to be acquainted with the food hole.

"Come on, Al, just one bite. It won't kill you. Nothing short of Armageddon could do that. You're the cockroach of the nations. Or lobster. Either way, one bite. Then I'll leave ya alone, kay?"

Al, scowling from the 'cockroach' comment, heaved a laboured sigh and shoved the fork into his mouth, grimacing slightly in automatic response before staring down at his plate in a mixture of awe and shock – eyes wide, jaw slack and food clearly visible in his mouth.

"Eww, Al! Close it!" Matthew complained, covering his eyes in disgust.

"What the fuck have I been missing all these years?! Is this what you've been tryin' to say?! My God, Matt, this is amazing!"

"Al, your mouth! Shut it when there's food in it!" Matthew exclaimed, cheeks red from the praise.

Alfred swallowed his food, "seriously, bro, we gotta get this stuff down South ASAP. I can't believe it! I'ma tell my boss how amazing it is!"

A bolt of pure white fear jolted itself through the Canadian's body, causing him to lunge at Alfred in terror. "Wait!" He exclaimed. Canada had very little that was purely his own – if the Americans got a hold of it... "Wait..." he said again, this time holding back tears.

"Matty, Matty bro, what's wrong? You okay?" Al frowned, stunned by both the sudden attack and sudden tears.

"Every time you get a hold of something that's mine, people always think it was yours to begin with. Most of our actors, movies, songs and bands... please, I don't have much that's purely my won, don't take this away from me, too. Please, Allie, don't take it away." Matthew whimpered, trying not to cry.

Alfred frowned, "does it really happen that often? Okay, what if we called it Canadian poutine? And only in, like, the fast food places? Would that help?"

Matthew looked up in shock, "you... you'd really do that? Put my name on it?"

Al nodded, "yeah, I mean, it really bothers ya so... if it means that much to ya, then why not? It'll be just like Canadian bacon, or Canada Dry, Damn, Canada Dry's fucking amazing ya know."

Matthew didn't bother pointing out that 'Canadian' bacon was just back bacon and there was nothing especially Canadian about it since most Canadians preferred real bacon anyways because it was the thought that counted. Giving Al a hug and a watery smile, Matt righted himself and moved back to his normal spot. "Thanks, Allie, you know how much that means to me."

"No problems, just stop calling me Allie, 'm not a chick."

"You call me Matty."

"Matty's still masculine."

Kumajirou, who had been asleep up until the weird attack on the couch, took this as an opportunity to speak. "No he not, he girly. Like Poland. Like Finland."

Matthew scowled, "shut up, bear. You're not so tough yourself."

"Food." Was all he replied.

Matthew sighed and got up, going over to the fridge and pulling out a large salmon fillet. He tossed it over to the hungry polar bear, and Alfred took this as an opportunity to both steal more poutine off his brother's plate and to clear off the table so they could talk business. In doing so, he stumbled upon a list.

What makes me Canadian

Poutine  
Bilingualism  
Tim Horton's  
Hockey  
Maple Syrup  
Politeness

Maple Leaves  
Saying 'Eh'  
Forgetability

A great many more words were added on and erased or scratched out on the sides and back. Curious, he held the list up to Matthew as he popped another cheese-and-gravy covered fry in his mouth. "Yo, Matty, what's this?" He asked, mouth covered in ooey-gooey cheesey goodness.

"Dad'd have an aneurism if he saw you like that." Matthew said, passing him a paper towel. "It's nothing really, just a list to tell me what separates Canadians from Americans." He explained.

Alfred looked at the list again, noting how forgetability was in big, angry capital letters and underlined not once, twice, or thrice but no less than four times. It was then, that it happened. A light bulb, sparkling blue eyes. Alfred had an idea.

Alfred was going to get his brother noticed and remembered, if it was the last thing he did. It was time for Alfred Franklin Jones, nation of America the so-dubbed "greatest country on Earth", to play the Hero.

**And let the plot commence :3**


End file.
